


A Final Gift

by HARP0



Category: Kyou Kara Maou!
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 07:04:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/707920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HARP0/pseuds/HARP0
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wolfram has some words for Yuuri, but will he listen?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Final Gift

 

Autumn had just made its presence known—giving a light frost in the early morning which would be long since melted by the afternoon.  It was harvest and a time of celebration in Shin Makoku.  
  
And the wedding reception would start in ten minutes. The castle staff members were busying themselves, trying to make the outdoor reception as beautiful as possible. Tall, black iron candelabras burned brightly against the purpling of the sky—knowing that dusk would soon be there. In addition to the high table, twelve rows of long tables had been erected with linen tablecloths, glittering tableware, and flower place settings fresh from the royal greenhouse. Tiny, glitter-covered pumpkins and petit candied fruits decorated the serving tables along with white, ivory, and silver ribbons.  
  
And a moment passed when, suddenly, the guests arrived—wearing their finest.  
  
They were each escorted to their tables, according to their noble houses, and waited patiently, a gentle breeze blowing. A soft murmur among the guests.  
  
The wedding was certainly interesting. And tonight’s entertainment, doubly so.  
  
Yuuri entered with Wolfram at his elbow.  The double black king gave a brief wave to some of the guests he recognized from his recent travels to the human lands.  His new suit of clothes, black with a crimson cape and heavy matching crown, seemed to suit him now. He was slightly taller than he was when he was fifteen and had literally fallen into Shin Makoku. Wolfram was wearing his dress uniform in stately blue with a rather subdued expression on his face, glancing at Yuuri every once in awhile as they went along. Conrad and his husband Yozak followed, both on bodyguard duty. And, leading up the rear were Gwendal and Murata.  
  
They all took their places and waited for the bride and groom to enter. And what a lovely bride Greta had made. She wore an antique wedding dress that Anissina had loaned to her. Anissina saying that she would never be getting married anyway. So, there was no need to keep it entirely to herself. This, of course, thrilled Greta—to wear such a wonderful, long gown with a beaded bodice and royal length train. And it made those in the house of von Karbelnikoff proud to have such an honor bestowed on such an important day as the princess’ wedding.  
  
Greta had married Duke Nigel Armand of Svelera. His sandy colored hair and pale eyes made him an interesting contrast to Greta’s chocolate curls and darker skin.  He was six years older, awkward and mild mannered, and was in legitimate awe of Greta’s decisive ways and positive attitude. Exactly what Greta saw in him, though, no one could hazard a guess—especially Wolfram.  
  
As Günter had instructed, Yuuri picked up a glass and tinked it lightly with his spork, getting everyone’s attention. As The Twenty-Seventh Demon King of Shin Makoku, it was Yuuri’s job to bestow one final blessing upon the couple. And Yuuri hoped that he’d get the words out without messing up. Wolfram, on the other hand, simply stared off into space—seemingly not to care until he got a small elbow jab from the side by Yozak. He blinked at the smiling orange haired man, scowled, and then tried to think of something else.  
  
Greta was married. She was going to leave the castle.  
  
His final duty was over.  
  
As the guests ate with great joyousness, Wolfram watched their faces with detachment. He could smell the food and spiced wine. He could see the happy expression on Greta’s face as she fed a tiny piece of shrimp to her new husband. And he loved the bite. The cake was about to be brought out—a massive, multi-towered confection designed by Yuuri’s mother. Greta leaned over, past her husband, to thank Mama Shibuya for the wonderful cake. And Yuuri’s mother said something in return, not that Wolfram paid it much mind.  
  
He ate his meal without tasting it.  
  
“Lord von Bielefeld,” Günter said from behind his chair, making Wolfram turn. “It is time for the entertainment to begin. And you did promise, as I recall.”   
  
Wolfram looked around him again. The eating had finished, more or less, and he noticed that Yuuri was watching him expectantly with a broad smile on his face.  
  
Oh, yes…that…  
  
With a  nod, Wolfram got up, removed his jacket, and draped it over the back of the chair.  Rolling up his sleeves, he made his way past the tables for an area set up specifically for him. The blond could hear Günter introducing him and he did his best to ignore it. The man was really annoying him tonight.  
  
A smile. He could fake that at least as he reached out both his hands and made fireballs. From off to the side, a band with pipes, drums, and a fiddle began to play—the song originally being a defiant battle hymn but one still popular today. Wolfram painted the world around him in fire, spreading flames as he danced through them—not caring if he singed his hair or not. For Greta, he’d do his best. Swaying, he created wings on his own back. The fire burning bright in reds and oranges—tips in golden yellow. Another fireball  rose into the air, making itself a halo now. And Wolfram, in the firelight, had never been more beautiful, more majestic—more powerful.  
  
If you make Greta sad, Wolfram thought as he looked at the groom, you will have me to deal with.  
  
Oddly, the groom and the rest of the guests assembled didn’t take it that way. Instead, there was a tremendous roar of approval and clapping  as the music stopped and the flames burned themselves out—black smoke driving away majestically in black curls.  
  
A dance. A gift to Greta. No one would ever forget this night and it made him happy.  
  
But there were other things on his mind and Wolfram didn’t pay much attention to Yuuri’s pat on the back as he took his seat again. Another band began playing with three little girls dancing with colorful ribbons. To distract Yuuri, Wolfram pointed to them and, easily enough, the young king fell for it.  
  
The reception continued into the wee hours, the bride and groom had long since left, and Yuuri had decided that it was his turn to leave as well.  As he was getting up from his chair, Wolfram leaned over to him and asked, “May I talk to you for a moment?”  
  
Raven eyes turned nervously to his godfather. Should he or shouldn’t he? Conrad gave an encouraging smile which made Wolfram’s blood boil. But, considering the occasion, Wolfram decided to control himself.  
  
“Yes or no, Yuuri?”  
  
Yozak and Conrad casually moved away as Yuuri fidgeted.  “Look, can’t we talk about this another time?” He raked his fingers through his hair. Their engagement—which had lasted an embarrassingly long time—was the last thing he wanted to talk about tonight. Why ruin the mood? The moment? Yes, weddings always made Wolfram dream of THEIR wedding but…  
  
Green eyes sliced a look to the side. Conrad and Yozak were trying to pretend to talk about something else—anything else. But it didn’t matter. He would have his say and be done with it. Finally. “Yuuri, all I wanted to tell you was…”  
  
The double black cringed. Openly.  
  
The blond tried to meet eyes with him and failed.  Fine, he’d talk to a mop of black hair instead. “The first year that we were together… Those were good times. That’s all. That’s all I wanted to say.”  
  
“Wolf…” Yuuri groaned, knowing that this was not what the blond wanted to say. OR, at least, not the whole story.  
  
“You are a great king and a good father…” he said quietly. “And…that’s all.”  
  
Words left unsaid for there was no one there to truly hear them.  
  
He knew it.  
  
And, with that, the blond got up, put his hands in his pockets, and walked away from the reception—past the flickering candelabras and the decorative ribbons fluttering into the brightening blue sky. Soon, the shining bright hair could no longer be seen.  
  
And the blue military jacket remained on the chair as a flag of surrender.  
  
That was the last that they saw of him, no matter how many times they searched. It was said that Lord Wolfram von Bielefeld had simply had enough of being at Blood Pledge Castle—that he had remained only as long as he had to fulfill his parental responsibilities and to make sure that his daughter had married well.  Another rumor spoke of a lover, or lovers, capturing his heart and reviving the smoldering fire which dwelt within.  
  
But some said that he simply made a wrong turn—and kept going.  
  
In search of a place where, even now, he truly belongs.

A place called "home."


End file.
